by AJ Frazer
The engines rumbled, signaling the beginning of their journey. Dominic had traveled on many private jets and tried to identify the engine tone. He drew a blank—there was nothing discernible he could pick up on.
The plane didn’t need to taxi; it simply tore down the runway, lifted off, climbed steeply, before banking sharply. A moment later, the voice said, “You may remove your hood now, Mr. Elliston.”
Dominic reached back and pulled the hood away from his face. The fresh air, albeit pressurized cabin air, felt good. He rubbed his face and scratched his head with both hands.
The man sitting directly in front of him was smiling triumphantly. Athletic build; dark hair; pale, flawless skin. He looked like a model from a European catwalk.
“You look pleased with yourself,” Dominic said.
“I am very pleased to have you with us, Mr. Elliston—”
“Dominic is fine.”
“As you wish. The operation went perfectly and I have no reason to believe the authorities are the least bit aware that we will soon be flying over the English Channel.”
“Well done you,” snarled Dominic, then immediately softened slightly as he relished the fact the hood was no longer shrouding him in claustrophobic darkness.
“May I offer you a refreshment?” asked the man.
“I’m fine. Your name?”
“I am Erik. We are all known members of Earth Ghost so no fake names necessary.”
“Well, Erik, I must say I am not fond of your limousine service, but I guess under the circumstances, you didn’t have much choice. MI6 had contacted me and my lawyer was strongly recommending I comply with all their requests—which I likely would have done. Begrudgingly.”
Erik nodded and smiled again, eminently cool. “Of course. Thank you for your understanding.”
Dominic pegged Erik as a man who prided himself on always being calm, collected, and in control. He knew the type well enough. He was, after all, one himself.
“So how long will this flight be?” asked Dominic.
“Not long. We will land at a remote airfield from which you will be taken by car to meet with Victor. The car journey, for which I must apologize, is long and rather uncomfortable. But because it is night, you will not need to wear the hood except when we disembark from the plane—so that you cannot identify the tail number, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Dominic was surprised at how quickly and easily he had become complicit in the elaborate tactic to avoid any usable intelligence for MI6. “So, given that I’ve had no chance to do any research on Victor Sagen, perhaps you can enlighten me with some background on him?” Dominic, couldn’t help but picture Louna gazing over her wine glass at him when he used the word enlighten. To lighten the load, she had said.
“I am sorry, Mr. Ellis— Dominic, it would not be appropriate for me to comment on Victor in this way. Besides, you will meet him shortly and surely it is better to look upon a stranger than someone you think you know only from what someone else told you.”
“Debatable. I prefer to look upon a stranger about whom I know at least something. Helps with the questioning.”
“I am sure it does. I am not a journalist, but I am an observer of people and, I assure you, nothing you have read about Victor will prepare you for meeting him in person. He is an extraordinary man.”
“Really, how so?”
Erik merely smiled as he held Dominic’s expectant gaze.
“OK, I get it.”
Dominic was still in his tuxedo with his bow tie undone around his neck. He exhaled and shifted in his seat to get comfortable and slouched down slightly to look through the window at the black featureless sky. He reached for his phone in his chest pocket to see what time it was and to see if he had a signal up here. Patting around, he quickly realized it wasn’t there.
“Your phone and wallet will be given back to you upon your return to the United Kingdom,” said Erik plainly.
Dominic did not reply; he understood why they had taken them. He was dog-tired now that the adrenaline had worn off and the late hour was catching up with him. Erik would never give him anything on Sagen that he could use, so he let his eyes close and his head loll to the bulkhead. Time slipped away behind the insulated noise of the jet engines, and a fitful sleep took over.
A loud bang and the sudden feeling of his stomach being forced up into his throat smacked Dominic back to reality. The plane had dropped—was dropping—sharply. The engines screamed with an increasingly high pitch and the whole plane shook violently. He clasped the side of the bulkhead, his body braced and tensed. His mind frantically trying to make sense of what was happening. Erik, who was sitting opposite him, had a wide-eyed look of terror.
This couldn’t be good.
Dominic fought the urge to scream as he came to understand the full horror of the situation. So, this was what it was like to die in a plane crash. There was no life flashing before his eyes, no pleasurable childhood memories, no sense of peace with what he had contributed to the world. Just a stark, piercing awareness of the noise, the vibrations, and the sensation of falling uncontrollably.
The plane continued to judder, Dominic’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the seat and bulkhead. Everything was happening so quickly yet, at the same time, painfully slowly. He was breathing hard as, yet another mother lode of adrenaline was delivered to his heart.
The plane seemed to level out slightly. It was bucking around still but wasn’t dropping anymore. The sound of a muffled alarms from the cockpit were soon silenced.
Dominic looked at Erik who stared back, neither could say anything as they gulped air and started to retrieve their senses. The plane continued to kick and vibrate, but Dominic did his best to relax back into his seat. He waited for it to drop out of the sky again or to slam into the side of a mountain and for it all to be over.
A moment later the pilot’s voice came through the speaker system. “Sorry about that back there. We hit an unexpected down draft, which caused the rapid decent. There’s a weather system moving west, so we’re going to climb over it.”
Dominic and Erik both breathed more deeply. Peeling his hand off the armrest, Dominic opened and closed his fists, trying to reintroduce some feeling. They were shaking uncontrollably and wet with sweat.
“Well, that was exciting,” said Erik, with a forced smile.
“I’ve never been in turbulence like that.”
“No, I must say, neither have I,” said Erik. He looked at his watch. “But we should be landing soon.”
Dominic felt a disconcerting combination of being mentally wired and physically exhausted. It must have been three or four in the morning and his body did not appreciate such an adrenaline-rich evening.
The plane landed fifteen minutes later with no further excitement. Dominic had to put the hood back over his head and be escorted off the plane. He was then helped into the back of what felt like an old 4x4 of some sort—a Land Rover, perhaps. It drove off as soon as he and Erik were seated in the back.
“You may remove the hood,” said Erik a short time later.
Dominic pulled it off, but it didn’t make much difference to what he could see. “How far is the drive?” he grumbled, looking through the window at the featureless blackness outside: no streetlights, no building or house lights—nothing.
“Distance wise, not far. But the terrain is rather treacherous, so we will be at least another two hours, I am afraid.” Erik was returning to his beaming self again now that they were on the ground.
“Great,” said Dominic.
True to his word, the drive was indeed uncomfortable. The old Land Rover Defender—for such it was—bounced and lurched over deep ruts and obstacles for most of the way.
Dominic couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that all this could just be a ruse to get him out to wherever the hell they were going and demand some sort of ransom. Perhaps they were planning to torture him or send body parts back to Jagged Edge HQ. What the hell was he doing here? He’d sp
ent enough time in dangerous places. Places where the locals would have happily cut off his genitals or skinned him alive with filleting knives. Perhaps that’s why now, despite the uncertainty of the situation, he felt strangely unperturbed.
Eventually the road wound upwards through a thick pine forest. Then he noticed a series of bright floodlights arranged evenly in a long line. Bursting through the forest into a clearing, they drove through a large open gate into the light.
They pulled to a stop beside a plain wooden building inside a broad compound.
“We’re here,” said Erik.
Chapter Seven
The sound of someone knocking on the thin wooden door to Dominic’s room eventually filtered through his sleep fog. “Yes,” he called out croakily.
“Would you like to join us for lunch, Mr. Elliston?” called out a cheerful female voice.
Lunch? What time is it?
Dominic considered it for a moment. “Yes,” he growled.
“Great. Turn left down the hall when you’re ready.”
Dominic grunted and rolled over before swinging his feet to the floor. His joints and limbs automatically followed orders, blindly going through the motions.
After they had arrived the previous night, Erik had led the way past a number of sparse timber huts lit by dim orange lights mounted on poles. It reminded Dominic of photos he’d seen of Second World War concentration camps: austere buildings, mud, and wire fencing. The night’s silence had had a weight to it. They were remote, no question about that. Given the cold, he figured they must be at altitude, or possibly in Northern Europe.
At one of the huts, Erik escorted Dominic to a small, warm room, dimly lit, revealing a single bed, a chair, a desk with drawers and a bedside table. He showed him the adjoining bathroom, lit with a harsh fluorescent tube, and the clothes in the closet that had been provided for him.
He went back to the closet now and reached for something to wear, other than his formal dinner suit. Thankfully he’d been furnished with chinos, an Oxford collar shirt, and woolen jumper. Even the Timberland boots were a good fit. Hats off to Earth Ghost—they had impressive attention to detail.
The open lounge area was filled with sofas, side tables, rugs, and old lamps. The room was warm, bright, and had a distinct hunting lodge feel to it. Around the room, four people were dispersed, eating food from plates balanced on laps or couch arms. They all stopped eating and looked up wordlessly and warily at him.
“Ah, Dominic, you’re up. I was beginning to worry.” Erik walked out of an adjacent room, presumably the kitchen, holding a tea towel.
Dominic was relieved to see a familiar face. “I was just about to introduce myself,” he said, looking around the room.
“That is unnecessary. They all know who you are. Come with me and I will prepare you some lunch.”
Dominic followed Erik back into the kitchen. “So, where is Victor?” Dominic wanted to get to the point and start asserting control over the situation.
Erik had returned to his work-in-progress on the kitchen counter, which appeared to be cheese and salad sandwiches. He smiled as he added the lettuce. “Victor is not here.”
“What do you mean? Why bring me here to meet him if he’s not even here?”
“We have to be sure there is no chance of the authorities following you,” said Erik, in his clipped accent that Dominic had still not managed to peg.
Not used to being kept waiting, Dominic found himself irritated by the fact that he was the one bending over backward to accommodate Sagen. Rarely in the last decade had he made concessions for anyone. Being the founder and chairman of a successful media business earned him certain privileges—having dominion over his time was one of them.
“Right, so when can we expect to see him?”
“In due course.” Erik smiled and handed Dominic a sandwich on a plate.
He took the sandwich begrudgingly, then turned and walked back to the lounge with Erik in tow. They sat down at a long wooden dining table. Dominic picked up his sandwich warily but turned to Erik before taking a bite. “I need to contact my people at Jagged Edge. May I have my mobile back?”
“Out of the question I am afraid.”
Dominic put the sandwich down carefully before continuing calmly. “What’s out of the question is the fact you kidnapped me, got me out of the country illegally, and are now holding me against my will.”
“You are not here against your will. You can leave whenever you wish.”
Dominic fumed, pushing the plate away, having lost his appetite. He probably should just leave. The Veda Analytics deal would go nowhere until he was back. Christ, Veda Analytics. What the hell was he going to do with that red-hot mess? He shouldn’t be here in the middle of God knows where. He should be strategizing with Ray and Julian and a small cabal of PR magicians. Too late for that now. He was here and invested in doing the interview. Might as well see it through.
Leaving Erik to his lunch, Dominic went outside to explore the compound. The place wasn’t quite as bad as the concentration camp he’d first been reminded of in the dark of night. Perhaps more of an abandoned summer holiday camp. Outside the wire fence he could see thick copses of pine and tall, steep mountains surrounding them. The cool air was crystalline and sharp with spruce. He trudged through the thick yellow clay and mud, grateful for the Timberlands.
An Asian man—perhaps Indian—sat on the steps of a hut. He looked tired, stressed, his head resting in the palm of one hand. He ran the fingers of his other hand through thick black hair. His knee bounced up and down quickly—nervous, thought Dominic. Nervous, tired, and stressed. Dominic knew that, counterintuitively, people in this state often gave up the best information. Their defenses were down.
The man looked up and saw Dominic heading his way.
“Excuse me, hello!” called Dominic.
The man quickly got up, turned and walked back up the steps.
“Excuse me!” yelled Dominic again.
The man looked back with dark, suspicious eyes before going inside. The door closed behind him with a loud clunk and a whirring noise. The metallic locking sound was incongruous with the timber building and door.
Dominic shrugged and walked on. His mind went to his impending interview with Sagen. How to handle a man like this? One thing was certain, he wouldn’t be cowering to him, or letting him off lightly. Sagen might be seen as a hero by many, but he was equally considered a terrorist by others.
“Mr. Elliston?” came a woman’s voice from behind him.
Dominic turned. “Can I help you?”
“Help me? No. Erik asked us all to ensure that we help you.”
Dominic blinked away his stare. “I’m fine, just taking a walk.”
“Sure. I’m Zhen—Zhen Daiyu.” She held out her hand and smiled, revealing the perfect white teeth that only Americans seem to achieve.
Dominic clasped her soft yet firm hand. Handshakes weren’t a common gesture anymore. But she offered her hand and he would not refuse it.
She continued. “I thought you might like to discuss some background on Earth Ghost ahead of your time with Victor?”
Dominic nodded. “That could be interesting.”
They went back to the building where he was staying and found the lounge room empty. The afternoon sunlight was streaming into the room, illuminating dust motes to form solid beams of light. The old couches, surrounding a large wooden coffee table, looked like they’d been around for decades. Rugs were thrown over some of them, probably to hide where the fabric had worn through.
They sat at opposite ends of one of the couches. Her features were Asian, or perhaps South American or even Spanish, but the accent was clearly American—West Coast, most likely, thought Dominic. Her dark hair was loosely pulled back in a ponytail. She had long slender legs and luminous light tan skin. She wore old, tight blue jeans and a faded black T-shirt that was a perfect fit across her shoulders and small breasts.
Dominic tried not to stare at her. He w
as mesmerized by her effortless beauty. Her casual clothes, lack of makeup and barely considered hair … she couldn’t have tried less to look attractive, yet it only made her beauty even more striking.
“So, tell me about the mysterious Victor Sagen?” probed Dominic.
“Can you be a little more specific?”
Answering a question with a question. Great. We’re already playing the games of public relations.
“Well, how did you first meet Victor?”
“I met him in Australia a few years ago. I was protesting at the Great Barrier Reef and he turned up completely unexpectedly. We were all blown away that the head of Earth Ghost would come to our little demonstration.”
“I can imagine that must have been quite a sensation to have him join in your protest.”
“Oh, he didn’t protest. There was media there and the last thing he wanted was media coverage. He just arrived at our camp one evening. He spoke to us about the work we were doing, the importance of saving the reef, and what Earth Ghost was doing to help. Anyway, I got to speak to him about Earth Ghost and I mentioned that I wanted to do more to contribute after I finished university. He gave me the contact details of someone at Earth Ghost and that was it. He left that night.”
“So you finished your degree and then got back in touch?”
“That’s right. When I completed my studies, I emailed the contact. They connected me with someone in San Fran, where I was vetted and eventually sent off to a number of induction camps around the world. This last year I’ve been involved in twelve different protests and I’m now getting involved in our environmental lawsuits.”
“How many of those protests were with Victor?” asked Dominic.
She smiled. “None.”
“But he’s a prominent activist. He must be involved in all manner of public protests?”
“No, Victor is way beyond protests. He oversees operations, encourages and inspires scientists and researchers, and conducts strategic operations with a small team of specialists.”
